


How to fuck up your life in five easy steps

by blackberrychai



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friendship, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Sylvain Jose Gautier, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Sylvain Jose Gautier Being An Idiot, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25955806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberrychai/pseuds/blackberrychai
Summary: Sylvain doesn’t have all that many friends, really.It’s still too many.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 77





	How to fuck up your life in five easy steps

**Author's Note:**

> This one’s a little angstier than usual, but it ends happily, I promise! A quick warning for some self-destructive behaviour, a bit of alcohol use, and if you squint allusions to canon-typical child abuse.

One.

Ingrid is the easiest, in many ways. All the set-up it takes is provoking one of her regularly scheduled chewing-out sessions. He finds that shy girl from her riding club, Marianne, and flirts with her until she runs away. He shoves down the way his stomach churns when he leans over her in the university library, a well-practised leer on his face, and does his best not to vomit when he sees her face go slack in shock at a particularly suggestive comment. It takes longer than he’d anticipated for her to turn her back on him and gather up her books in a panic, but he walks back to his apartment with a sense of grim satisfaction.

It only takes a couple of hours for Ingrid to turn up at his door. The torrent of anger that flows out when he lets her in seems to have lost the vein of irritated affection for his shenanigans that usually lies hidden under her words. Not that he cares. He lets the invectives wash over him, and slumps down on his couch to wait until she reaches a pause. He prepares his grin, and when she stops for breath, turns it on her with all the sharp edges he can muster.

“Come on, Ingrid, when have these rants ever worked on me? Let me just have a little bit of fun, goddess!”

She snaps her mouth shut to glare at him. “It is not fucking fun for any of the people you do this to! And Marianne, honestly! How could you treat her like this!”

He rolls his eyes. “Come on, lighten up. Like I said, didn’t work the last hundred times, not going to work now. Why do you insist on doing this lecture every time I do something you don’t approve of?”

Ingrid splutters at that. “I don’t know, possibly because I hold out some stupid hope that you’ll actually come to your senses and stop treating other people like shit? Fuck knows why.”

Here goes, Sylvain thinks. “Nah,” he says, “I don’t think that’s it.” He forces the leer onto his face again. “You know, I think you’re jealous you’re not one of those girls.”

She shoots him a look of disbelief. “Fuck off, Sylvain.”

“Come on, we all know you’d like it really. Never thought about how good I must be to get so many girls into bed?”

Her eyes are poisonous now. “Not even once.”

Sylvain stands up from the couch and walks easily over to where she stands by the wall. Resting a hand next to her shoulder, he leans in far too close, making the most of his height advantage. He tips her chin up to look at him with one finger, and smirks. “Your parents would love it, too. Aren’t I just the kind of rich boy they wish you’d bring home? They’d definitely rather you stopped your little lesbian rebellion and just settled down.” He brings his face down so his breath gusts over her lips. “We all know you’re just looking for attention, anyway. Just admit you want me really.”

And then he’s staggering backwards from Ingrid’s bone-white face, her hand still in the air from her slap. He can see she’s shaking, and he lets his grin show his teeth.

“How fucking dare you,” she whispers, and then she’s turning on her heel and shutting his front door far too quietly.

* * *

Two.

The trick is knowing what plays on people’s nerves. That’s something Sylvain has always been good at working out. Of course, he usually uses that to avoid those things, and that’s what makes it so simple to seduce people. Once you work out what they want to hear to soothe their anxieties, they’re easy to lure into bed.

Ashe’s worries sit close to the surface. Close enough that the subjects of them are things he talks happily about. They have a class together the next morning, and it’s easy to draw him into conversation as they pack up their bags.

“How are your siblings?” Sylvain asks.

Ashe’s face lights up. “Oh, they’re well!” he says. “I called them and Lonato last night, they seemed very cheerful.”

Sylvain gives him his easy smile, and lets Ashe chatter away about how the siblings he dotes on are doing in school, how bright and wonderful they are. “How are they doing with Lonato without you there?” he interrupts to ask.

“Well enough, I think,” Ashe says. “They seem to miss me, but they love Lonato.”

“That’s great,” Sylvain replies. “I’d just be worried about him looking after them, I guess. Like, they’re just kids, they don’t exactly have much to offer him.”

Ashe looks taken aback. “Offer him?”

“Oh, uh,” Sylvain laughs nervously. “Sorry, that was a bad way of putting it. I just mean that he adopted you to have someone to take over the company when he retires, right? After Christophe died. And they’re just little kids, and he already has you for that.”

“He took us in long before Christophe died!” Ashe says indignantly. “Even if he didn’t properly adopt us till later.”

“I know, I know,” Sylvain reassures. “I’m sorry, I just mean that Lonato has more of a relationship with you than the little ones. You’re a package deal, you know?”

Ashe is starting to look properly offended now. “Yes, I know. They’re my siblings, Sylvain, I looked after them for years. I’d do anything for them.”

“I know! That’s exactly my point. And Lonato knows that, so he took you all in when you and he bonded.”

Ashe just frowns back at him, looking uneasy. Sylvain sighs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply they’re not great kids. I’m sure they are.” He claps Ashe on the shoulder. “Anyway, I should get going. See you around!”

He walks off to leave Ashe standing alone in the middle of the corridor, looking rather lost.

* * *

Three.

Annette isn’t too difficult, either. He finds her in the cafeteria for lunch, and throws himself into the chair opposite her.

“Annie!” he exclaims, grinning brightly at her.

She smiles back, no sign of hesitation. “How are you on this fine morning?” He asks with false joviality.

It’s easy to get Annette talking. She happily rambles on about the baking she and Mercedes had done, her classes, and anything else that springs into her mind. Sylvain leans back in his chair and listens to her endless stream of consciousness.

She eventually realises she’s been monopolising the conversation. “Oh, sorry, Sylvain!” she says awkwardly. “How are you? How’s the semester going so far?”

He sighs. “Ok, I guess,” he says with a shrug. “You know I’ve got Professor Pronislav this year?”

Her face freezes a little. “Uh, yes, I think you said. How… how is that?”

“Oh, it’s pretty good! He’s a decent enough teacher. You haven’t had anything with him recently, have you?”

Annette looks down. “Not since my first semester, no. I just – it just felt wrong to barge into his classes again.”

Sylvain gives her what he hopes is a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, of course. Have you spoken to him at all recently?”

“No,” she says shortly. “Sylvain, please. I don’t want to talk about this.

“I’m sorry, Annette,” he says. “I’m just worried about you, you know? You spend so much of your time thinking about how to get him to talk to you. It can’t be healthy.”

Annette looks pained. “I know, I know, but… I have to make him see sense. You have to understand that.”

He gives his most comforting smile. “Of course, Annie. I just don’t want to see you hurt. It’s just that, well, if he hasn’t understood by now, what are you going to be able to do to convince him he should go back home?”

Her face crumples, and she stares resolutely at her plate, blinking rapidly, but doesn’t say anything.

“I mean, really, it’s not like there’s much to tempt him back,” he continues. “It’s just you and your mother, right? And he doesn’t seem to have spent the last however many years thinking about you two all that much. Honestly, I really do think you’d be better off leaving it. You’re just another unremarkable student to him.”

Annette brings her hand up to wipe furiously at her eyes. “No,” she chokes out. “He’s my father! He’ll come round.”

Sylvain reaches over the table and takes her hand. “Hey, it’s ok. You’ll just have to accept you don’t matter that much to him. After all, you’re just an overachiever student, it’s not like there’s much more than all your academics there for him.”

She looks up at him in shock and snatches her hand away. “Sylvain!” she exclaims.

He runs a hand casually through his hair. “Oh, sorry, that came out a bit harsh. But it’s kind of true, though, right? Come on, you know that.”

Annette stands up quickly enough that she knocks her chair over. “Sorry, I have to get to class,” she says thickly, and walks away without even picking it up again.

* * *

Four.

The problem with Mercedes is that he has to get to her before she sees Anette, and finds out there’s anything going on. The simpler part about Mercedes is that once Annette runs to her, he won’t even need to do anything else. All he needs to do is lay a little groundwork.

Sylvain strolls into the little coffee shop where she works. “Hey, Mercedes,” he greets. “Time for a bite of lunch? It looks pretty empty today.”

Mercedes beams back at him. “Of course! We’ll have to eat here, though — can I get you anything?”

He gets a sandwich and one of the tiny cakes she decorates so carefully, and when she waves him off paying as she always does, he actually lets her this time.

“Thanks, Mercie, you’re the best,” he says. “You’re so generous to everyone, it’s amazing.”

“Oh, no,” she protests, sitting down at a table near the counter with him. “Not really. I just like to help people.

He grins back at her. “I know. That’s why you’re so wonderful. And speaking of...” he hefts his bag up onto the table. “Could I beg a favour? I can’t get my head around this bio stuff, and you took this class last year, right? Can you give me a hand?”

Mercedes is always happy to help people with their work, so she and Sylvain settle in with his books. She’s always so genuinely eager to help that Sylvain usually makes sure to work at things on the rare occasions he asks her for help. Today, though, he hands her a pen and lets her take the lead. He guides her to his homework questions, and whenever she suggests he write something down, he smirks at her and says, “Oh, it’ll be so much easier if you just do it.”

As they work, Sylvain leans back in his chair and eats his lunch, mostly just listening to Mercedes. The small frown that begins with his first refusal to write something himself deepens gradually, and by the end she’s hiding a kernel of hurt behind a gentle wrinkling of her forehead.

“Are you ok, Sylvain?” she asks as he shoves his books back in his bag. “You seem a bit off.”

He gives his best approximation of a casual laugh, and tries not to let it get too wild. He can feel how the grin splits his face in half, though, showing far too many teeth. “What? Of course I’m fine. You know me, I just never like to do any work if I can avoid it.” He winks at her. “Thanks for the help. It would have taken me forever on my own.”

Her concerned expression doesn’t seem to change, so just hurries to swing his bag over his shoulder, and shoots her a grin before he saunters out of the door.

“Bye, Mercie!” He calls behind him.

* * *

Five.

Dimitri and Dedue are a package deal these days. Dealing with one deals with the other. Sylvain stops by Dimitri’s apartment and finds Dedue in the kitchen, gently stirring a pot of soup so large it’s practically a vat.

“Hey, Dedue,” he says. “How is he today.”

Dedue gives him a grave nod of greeting. “Today is not a good day, I’m afraid. I’m sure he would be delighted to see you, however.”

Sylvain pats his broad back reassuringly on his way past, and walks down the corridor and taps on Dimitri’s bedroom door. “Hello? It’s Sylvain, Dimitri. Can I come in?”

He stands there for a moment with no response, then the door is opened suddenly. Dimitri stands there, a loose shirt hanging off his shoulders, pushing his hair back from his eyes.

“Good afternoon, Sylvain,” he says, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Please, come in.”

Sylvain steps cautiously into the room, and Dimitri motions him courteously to a chair.

“How are you today?” he begins.

Dimitri smiles, and perches himself on the edge of the bed. Sylvain can see the strain in it, though. The room is only half-lit, the curtains cracked open so the weak afternoon sun can filter in. “I am... quite well, thank you. Things are a little difficult, perhaps, but I am so glad you came by.”

His expression is so earnest, despite the rumpled sheets, the lopsided shirt, the hair still falling in his face, that something in Sylvain’s chest seems to stick in his lungs. “Do you... are you hearing them today?” he asks softly.

Dimitri smiles again, so gently that Sylvain has to look away. “Sometimes. They were here this morning, but not any more.”

Sylvain stares at the window, tries to make out the clouds in the sky against the brightness, blinding from this shadowy room. Dimitri sees his gaze, and hurries to stand up. “I’m so sorry,” he says, and goes over to open the curtains fully. “There, let me—”

“No,” Sylvain cuts him off. “Dimitri — no, don’t worry. I’m sorry.” Suddenly, he seems to be unable to breathe. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Sylvain?” Dimitri asks, and the concern on his face is what finishes cracking that thing lodged in Sylvain’s lungs. “I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

The breath leaves his lungs in a gasp. “No, no, it isn’t you,” he manages. “I’m sorry. I — I have to go. You don’t deserve what I’d do to you.” And then he’s on his feet without really knowing how, and he’s on the stairs outside, Dedue’s voice calling after him.

* * *

~~Six.~~

Sylvain makes it half way through his bottle of whisky before there’s a knock on his door. He stumbles a little on his way over to it, and steadies himself against the wall as he prepares the right smile.

“Well hello,” he says, pulling it open.

Felix doesn’t even stop, just pushes past him into the apartment, and stands in the middle of the living room with his arms folded. Sylvain had been expecting it to be Dedue, perhaps Mercedes if he hadn’t primed her for Annette’s complaints quite well enough, but... oh well. Felix had been next on the list anyway, so this just moves his plan up a little. He shuts the door and leans back against it.

“Drink?” he offers, holding out the bottle of whisky. Felix glares at him for a long moment, then snatches it out of his hand.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks furiously, not taking his eyes of Sylvain.

Sylvain laughs. It echoes up from somewhere deep in his bowels, and pours out of him. “Nothing, Felix,” he says. “Just the usual. Come on, drink with me.” He flings himself onto the couch, and pats the cushion beside him in invitation.

Felix doesn’t move, but does take a long swig of the whisky. “Ugh, this is terrible,” he says. “Why do you drink such crap?”

“It does the job,” Sylvain says with a shrug, and that moves Felix’s expression right back from disgust to suspicion. Shit. “What brings you here, anyway?” he says. “Fancy going out and finding some girls?”

Felix is back to furious now, which is a slight improvement. Sylvain winks. “Or boys. Come on, you can pick where we go.”

“It’s a Tuesday, Sylvain, and no, that is not why I’m here.”

He shrugs back, and reaches out for the whisky bottle. Felix steps back so it’s out of reach, and fixes him with a steely glare.

“Do you know how many phone calls I got about you today?” he asks, and that was not remotely what Sylvain was expecting.

“What?” he says stupidly.

“Far too many, is the answer. What the hell is going on?”

He struggles to bring his easy smile back to his face. “Nothing’s going on, Fe, you know how they just get pissed at me. God, you’re all so uptight.”

This doesn’t soften Felix’s expression at all. “First Annette calls me,” he says.

“Come on, she’s just a bit sensitive, you know that. I just said something she didn’t like—”

Felix interrupts him. “Then Mercedes calls, and goes all ‘Oh, Felix,’” he imitates Mercedes’ breathy tone with uncanny accuracy. “‘Have you heard from Sylvain? He upset Ashe and Annie, I’m so worried about him.’”

What? That’s not right, Sylvain thinks, Mercedes wants to chew him out for being mean to her little chickens.

“Then it’s Dedue, saying something had happened with Dimitri, who’s convinced he needs to apologise for some reason, and could I make you go and see him again.”

Sylvain snorts at that. “What, are you the designated Sylvain-wrangler now?” he asks.

That gets him a roll of the eyes from Felix, which is reassuringly normal, unlike the rest of this conversation. “Apparently yes. Because I was just on my fucking way here, and Ingrid calls me to tell me that there’s something wrong, because you hit on her.”

“There’s nothing unusual about that,” he protests.

Felix glares. “Yes, there is. Or at least there is now. You haven’t hit on Ingrid in months, you know, and you’ve never done it seriously.” Sylvain frowns — that can’t be right — but Felix is barrelling on. “So yet again,” he asks, “What the fuck is going on?”

Getting up with a lazy stretch, Sylvain rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “They’re all just overreacting, come on. You know I say the wrong stuff sometimes, they’ll get over it.”

Suddenly Felix is right in his face, pushing him back so his calves hit the couch again. “Do not give me that shit, Sylvain,” he says, his voice low and angry, and his face far too close. “What happened? What are you doing?”

Sylvain pushes him back, his last attempt at a smile falling off his face. “They’re just realising I’m a piece of shit, like they should have already known.” He shoves Felix roughly away from him. “They’ve had enough of my shit, like you did long ago, so you can just go now, ok? You can report back that I’m just having fun with them, and then they don’t have to care any more.”

He starts to walk towards the kitchen, but is stopped by Felix’s hand unexpectedly grabbing at the shoulder of his shirt. “Did you not hear anything I fucking said?” he asks. “They’re all worried about you. And where did you get the idea that I’m sick of your shit?”

Sylvain turns back to face him in disbelief. “Felix, you tell me you are about once a week.”

His nose wrinkles, and Sylvain has to suppress the thought that oh, that’s adorable. “Ok, fine,” Felix says. “Maybe I get sick of your shit, but that doesn’t mean I’m sick of you, you fucking idiot.”

That makes Sylvain stop trying to dislodge Felix’s grip on his shirt. “That’s not true,” he says.

Felix shakes him, hard. “Do you think I’d be here if I were? Now just fucking tell me, what the fuck is the problem.”

Sylvain means to say nothing! yet again, but he finds other words spilling out against his will. “I saw Miklan yesterday,” he says instead.

The hand still on his shoulder goes suddenly still.

“Fuck,” Felix says.

Sylvain shrugs his hand off. “It’s fine. I’m fine. He just... reminded me of a few things I should have remembered about myself.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” says Felix, furious again, but in a different way. This is a cold anger, of a kind Sylvain’s rarely seen on him. “Come over here,” he bites out, and pulls Sylvain back over to the couch, sitting them both down.

Felix fixes his gaze on the wall opposite. “I’m only going to say this once, ok,” he continues with a furious intensity. “So you’d better fucking listen to me.”

Sylvain gives a hollow laugh, but sits there obediently. “Sure, Felix.”

“Whatever Miklan says about you is never true. Never. You have friends, and you deserve them. Every single call I got today was about being worried about you, not angry. You can do everything you can to drive us away and it will. Not. Work.” Felix looks at him then, just for a second. That second is the longest Sylvain has ever experienced.

He turns back to the wall, and stares at it in silence. “It’ll work eventually,” Sylvain says. “You’ll all get sick of my shit after a while.”

“If I’m still here now, do you really think you’re going to be able to drive me off?” Felix asks. “I’ve known you for twenty years, Sylvain. I think it’s safe to say I’m here for good.”

Sylvain just shakes his head, and Felix turns to face him.

“Just listen,” he says. “I have seen you do every kind of stupid shit under the sun, and I am still here.” His eyes are burning now. “I have seen you flirt with and then discard hundreds of girls, and be the worst kind of asshole, and I love you, ok? You’re not getting rid of me, not driving any of us away.”

The breath rushes out of Sylvain’s lungs, and all he seems to be able to do is stare at Felix. The moment stretches, until suddenly Felix is turning away.

“There,” he says. “I’ve said it. Maybe now you’ll stop being such an idiot.” He starts to push up from the couch, but Sylvain’s hand is on his leg, stopping him. “Let go,” he bites out, voice low.

“No,” Sylvain says, past the breathlessness. “Felix. Say it again.”

Felix turns slowly, and brings his eyes up to meet Sylvain’s with slow determination. “I love you,” he says. “Stop being an idiot.”

He probably had more to say, but he can’t say it because Sylvain cuts him off, pulling him against him and pressing their mouths together before he can even take another breath. Felix gasps out a moan into the kiss, his hands flying up to fist in Sylvain’s hair.

Then he breaks away. “Sylvain,” he says. “Are you sure? Because I can’t—”

Sylvain pulls him back in to kiss him again. “I’m sure, I’m sure,” he murmurs against his mouth. “God, Felix, I love you, why didn’t you say—”

It’s his turn to get cut off then, and Felix slides himself onto Sylvain’s lap, pushing him back down against the couch so he can straddle him. Sylvain bites a line of kisses down his neck, and Felix throws back his head and gasps when their crotches press together, both of them wonderfully, achingly hard.

They pull open each other’s flies with frenzied fingers, and Sylvain grasps one large hand around both their lengths to stroke them together. Felix pants into his mouth, making the most beautiful sounds Sylvain’s ever heard as he coaxes him into falling apart. Neither of them lasts long before they’re spilling one after the other over Sylvain’s hand.

Sylvain groans, and buries his face in Felix’s neck, until he’s pushed away as Felix starts to stand.

“Felix?” he asks, hating the vulnerability in his voice.

Felix pulls Sylvain up after him. “I’m just going to clean up, idiot,” he says, and has that fondness when he says ‘idiot’ always been there?

“Oh,” Sylvain says. “Ok. As long as you’re not leaving.”

Felix rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “I’m not leaving,” he says.


End file.
